


Distance

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Blindfolds, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Shut your eyes,' Clay purrs into his ear, and Akane starts to suspect where this is going." Akane is self-conscious about his marked eye and Clay gets him to stop worrying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance

“Fuck, Akane,” Clay laughs against the meister’s neck. “ _Breathe_ , I swear you’re wound so tight one day you’re gonna shatter when I touch you.”

Akane tries. He really does. It’s hard to relax when his body is humming tight with desperation and want and sensation, when every time Clay’s fingers find bare skin at the meister’s elbow or neck or hip Akane startles like he’s been burnt, but he does try. He pulls his mouth away from Clay’s shoulder, stares unseeing out past the halo of blond hair in his periphery and tries to loosen the clutching fists his fingers are making in Clay’s shirt.

“You’re terrible at this,” Clay offers into his ear, and Akane shudders and tenses again. “I mean the calming down,” he goes on, dragging his fingers through the meister’s hair so the pleasure pours down Akane’s spine warm and soothing. “Not the sex. You’re pretty good at that.”

“Pretty good?” Akane shifts his weight under the blond, angles his leg up to press against Clay’s length through the other boy’s pants. “I’m offended, I strive for perfection in everything.”

“I know you do,” Clay says. He leans up and away so Akane can see the way his weapon is smiling down at him, though his fingers keep trailing patterns through the meister’s hair. It feels good but it’s ruffling Akane’s hair back from his face, and even if it is just Clay here self-consciousness floods into Akane’s spine to counteract the comfort of the touch. “You should, I don’t know, strive for  _normal_  at some point. Just to see what it feels like.” The fingers stroke over Akane’s forehead, bump against the frame of his glasses, and the meister can’t help the flinch of panic that pulls his head back and away and he tries to tuck his marked eye back out of sight.

Clay goes still, and for a moment Akane is afraid to look for fear of seeing pain in the blond’s eyes. But the fear twists into panic and he needs to  _see_ , needs to know even it it’s awful. He tips his head up and Clay’s just watching him, an almost-smile turning at his mouth although it’s not reaching the gentle consideration in his gaze.

“It’s just me,” the weapon says aloud, an echo of Akane’s internal monologue. “Can’t you relax into it?”

Akane doesn’t trust his voice, so he shakes his head instead, slides his gaze away from the  _understanding_  in Clay’s dark blue eyes because it is somehow worse than anything else.

The blond sighs, but it lacks the resignation Akane is expecting, and then there is a tug as the weapon pulls the frames of his glasses free.

“Hey,” Akane protests, sitting up and reaching for the accessory. With the absence of Clay’s hand holding his hair back his vision falls into shadow again. “Give those back, Clay.”

“Do people even wear glasses during sex?” Clay asks aloud as if musing to himself. “People who aren’t totally paranoid and too uptight to relax for five minutes, I mean.” He glances at his meister and the smile on his face takes all the bite out of the comment. “Not that it matters.” He comes in to kiss Akane so fast the meister doesn’t have a chance to respond before Clay is pulling away, sliding off the bed and moving to set the glasses safely atop the dresser. “You won’t need them anyway.”

“Clay.” Akane drags a hand over his face. “I know I don’t  _need_  them, but --”

“You don’t understand.” Clay’s fingers close around the meister’s wrist. “You won’t need them. For vision or hiding or whatever, okay? Just trust me.” When Akane looks up Clay is pulling his school tie free with one hand, twisting the fabric around his neck until it comes free and he can shake it into a flat strip of cloth. He looks up, teeth shining white in a smirk, and Akane has a brief flicker of foreboding.

“I’ll show you,” Clay says pleasantly, as if he’s giving Akane a treat, and drops his hold on the meister’s wrist as he slides forward on the bed. He comes in very close, so close Akane is tipping his head up in anticipation of a kiss, but Clay comes sideways and around him instead, looping the tie loosely around the meister’s neck but the wrong-way around.

“Shut your eyes,” Clay purrs into his ear, and Akane starts to suspect where this is going. He does as ordered anyway, and when the weapon slides the fabric up to cover his eyelids he knows he’s right.

“A blindfold?” he asks into the darkness as fingers work at the back of his head.

“Sure.” Clay’s voice is rougher and darker than usual. Akane can’t tell if it’s just the lack of sight causing the change or if his weapon really  _is_  purring over the word. “You don’t want anyone to see your eye, right?” The fabric pulls tight, scraping friction against the meister’s shut eyelids. “This way you don’t need to worry about it.” Another tug, a rustle of fabric, a shift of weight. “Can you see me?”

“No.” Akane feels oddly calm, distant and separate from the proceedings. There’s a flicker of mental image of Clay kneeling in front of him, Clay’s tie knotted over his eyes, and he shivers at the rush of heat to his blood.

“Good.” That  _was_  deliberate, the way the word slides heavy over the weapon’s tongue. There’s another rustle, unidentifiable sounds, and the weight between Akane’s legs shifts and disappears.

“Clay?” He reaches out, half-panicked at the lack of visual input.

“I’m here.” There’s the brush of fingers against his and then they pull back, but the weapon keeps speaking. “Breathe, you’re fine.”

“What are you doing?”

Akane can  _hear_  the smile in Clay’s response. “You’re not supposed to know. Kind of the point of the blindfold, right?”

“But.” Akane swallows and drops his hands to the sheets, lays them flat over the fabric and slides idly against the texture. “But I don’t know what to expect.”

“And he understands,” Clay laughs. There’s a click of metal -- a belt, maybe? -- and the shuffle of fabric rubbing against itself. “Just stay calm, okay?” A scuffle against the floor, a huff of breath from the weapon, and the weight at the end of the bed is back. When Akane reaches out into the darkness his fingers hit skin and after a moment of exploration he realizes he’s touching Clay’s shoulder and brings his other hand up to ground himself against the weapon’s body. He can hear every breath Clay is taking, as if his ears are hyper-sensitive with the removal of his sight. The weapon sucks in a deep inhale and Akane knows he’s going to speak even before he does.

“I can take it off, if you don’t like it.” He doesn’t sound contrite, just sincere. “Just say the word, okay?”

“No.” Akane shakes his head. Without sight he has a strange sense of vertigo, like he’s not sure if Clay can see the movement, like he’s not sure if he’s actually moving at all. “No, it’s fine. I can’t tell where you are and it’s...I’m a little dizzy but.” Fingers touch his hip with no warning and blood surges down to his cock in instant response. The reaction saps the strength from his words and turns his voice breathy. “I like it.”

Clay’s breath comes in warm over his cheek. “Oh  _good_.” The hand at Akane’s hip comes sideways, pulls gently at the front of his pants, and when Clay’s shoulders bump against the meister’s Akane leans back obediently. Clay pulls away but the meister doesn’t move, just lies still, feeling faintly like the need for action is gone with his vision, like the blindfold is granting him permission to just lie flat on the bed and breathe faster in anticipation of Clay’s touch.

“Lift up,” Clay’s voice orders, clear through the odd haze of sensation, and Akane does. The loosened fabric around his hips slides free at Clay’s tugging; there’s a brief wave of cool air on bare skin and an accompanying flush of self-consciousness blush under Akane’s cheeks, but it’s not so bad without the ability to  _see_  Clay seeing him, and then the weapon’s hands are sliding hot up against his thighs and Akane is shuddering at the contact and the chill and self-consciousness both evaporate.

“You’re  _gorgeous_ ,” Clay says, and Akane gasps as the shifting fingers come up under the loose hem of his shirt. “I don’t get to  _look_  at you enough and that is a  _shame_.” One hand starts pulling at the buttons down the front of Akane’s shirt while the other comes farther up and sideways, traces ticklish sensation across the meister’s stomach so Akane shivers and half-twists as his shirt comes open. There is a tug at his neck -- that’s Clay pulling his tie loose, it has to be -- and then the tie slides free and the weapon’s fingers are trailing against the line of his collarbone, sliding his shirt open to his shoulders and touching so lightly that Akane is gasping and rocking up for more concrete sensation.

He doesn’t realize how close Clay is to his skin until the weapon chuckles and warm air gusts against Akane’s hip and around his cock. He jerks in surprise and bumps up against Clay’s lips for a moment before dropping back flat to the mattress with a groan.

“Sit up,” Clay says, pulling back so Akane can only hear and not feel the words. His hands curl around Akane’s hips, sweep against the curve of his back as the meister comes up and forward, and then there’s a weight across Akane’s lap and friction against his cock, and it’s not until Clay settles against him and sighs in satisfaction that Akane can identify the pressure and friction as his weapon straddling his lap. He didn’t realize Clay’s pants were off, but the weapon’s bare skin is pressed up against his and when Akane leans forward his cock bumps briefly against Clay’s length so both boys shudder. Akane’s mouth fits in against the weapon’s chest and Clay’s fingers drag down over his shoulders and arms to push his shirt and jacket free. As soon as the meister has the use of his arms again his fingers are seeking out the lines of the other’s back, pleased if not surprised to meet no resistance.

“Are you wearing anything at all?” Akane asks against the darkness.

He can feel Clay laugh, the brush of lips against his ear as the blond presses a kiss into his skin. “Only one way for you to find out, isn’t there?”

Akane grins and slides his hands down to find Clay’s hips. The weapon goes sideways without being told, lets himself be guided down onto the mattress. When Akane moves he has another wave of dizziness and nearly falls as his balance goes; a hand catches at his hip, there’s a bubble of laughter from the weapon, and Akane smiles as Clay slides in under him and pulls the meister back into balance.

“Clumsy of you,” he purrs. Akane tries to cover his mouth to cut off his speech but he misses, catches the bottom of the blond’s chin instead.

“You tied your  _clothes_  over my eyes.” He gives up on closing off the weapon’s continued laughter to focus on dragging his fingers down over shoulder, arm, elbow. “I’m doing well, considering.”

It takes a few minutes to brush over the entirety of Clay’s body, down against the shiver of his stomach and the tense muscle of his thighs and calves; when Akane touches his palms Clay shifts, catches Akane’s wrists between his fingers.

“Satisfied?” the weapon asks, one leg coming up to fit between the meister’s. It’s enough warning that Akane lets his balance go fluid so when Clay leans in against him to flip them back over he can go with more grace than otherwise. “Impressed, actually.” Clay lets Akane’s hands go and the meister reaches down, flutters his fingers through the empty air until he brushes up against hot skin and Clay gasps over him. “I didn’t know you could strip so fast. How much were you  _wearing_  under your uniform?”

“You may never know,” Clay murmurs against Akane’s hair. Then he’s pulling away, leaving the meister’s skin to go cool again in the air of the room. Akane shuts his eyes behind the cloth -- it’s pointless, not as if he can see anything with them open anyway, but it gives him a sense of control and makes it easier to relax back on the sheets.

He can hear Clay come back before he feels the touch, so he’s arching up in anticipation before the warmth of fingers comes down against his hip. There’s a shift at the end of the bed, contact more accidental than deliberate, but every touch weighs more in the dark. Akane can’t even tell what’s touching him, just that there is contact against his knee and a weight twisting on his ankle, and he smiles out into the shadows while fingers come down around his leg to slide along the inside of his thigh.

“Your hands are cold,” Akane observes. He can feel the path of slippery liquid in the wake of Clay’s fingers. “Couldn’t you have warmed them up first?”

“Ah, sorry.” Clay’s words come lower than Akane expects, and after a moment there’s warm breath blowing in the wake of the chill. Akane shivers more from the heat than the cold of a moment before, and while he’s still trembling from the sensation the weapon slides a finger inside him so he hisses in reaction. “You know me, not so good at the planning.”

“Right.” It’s easier to relax even though Akane can’t see Clay moving between his legs, even when the weapon’s mouth presses hot into the sensitive skin of his thigh. He groans, takes a breath and steadies his voice. “Right. That’s what I’m here for, yeah?”

“Right.” Clay’s moving his hand, pressing sensation against Akane’s body with his fingers and his mouth, and Akane’s nerves are singing with feeling and Clay’s barely even started. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Akane shifts his hips, moves himself against Clay’s hand, and the weapon laughs. There’s a touch against Akane’s cock, a featherlight brush of fingers, and Akane is gasping and rocking up as Clay carefully fits another finger inside him. This is familiar in itself, but the lack of sight backs him up into shocked responses that remind him of the first time. He’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline of the moment or the memory of the first flustered desperation that speeds his breathing so fast, but when Clay’s fingers shift and push against him he moans and arches his back up clear of the bed.

A touch at his hip, gentle pressure pushing him back down flat. “Relax, Akane. Just breathe.”

The meister sucks in air, lets it out slow, and when Clay curls the fingers inside him the pressure sends pleasure sparking out into his veins. He shudders and moans but stays languid across the bed, and he’s rewarded by the feel of Clay smiling against his skin.

“Not so hard, see?” The hand against the meister’s hip drags down, gentle affection in the friction. The warm breath shifts out of range for a moment; then there’s damp heat against Akane’s cock, the slide of skin slippery with moisture, and for just a moment Clay’s mouth comes down over the meister’s length. Akane has only just identified the source of the warm sensation when Clay is pulling away, mouth and fingers sliding away so Akane is left with nothing but the fingers at his leg to ground him to reality.

“Clay?” He doesn’t mean to sound plaintive, but he feels at a loss, floating free from the mattress under him without the advantage of his sight.

“I’m here.” The fingers tighten, the pressure of a whole hand rather than just the brush of contact, and after a moment Clay’s other hand matches against Akane’s other hip. The meister spreads his legs apart in anticipation and Clay fits himself in between them, the heat from his body radiating out until Akane’s not sure if their skin is actually touching or just within a breath of doing so. Then there’s a press, hard skin against slick resistance, and as Clay slides into him Akane’s closed eyelids flash white with a spark of sensation.

“ _Akane_ ,” Clay groans. His weight shifts, a knee pressed against Akane’s leg, and the meister laughs around the tight pleasure filling his throat.

“I’m here,” he manages. “I thought I was the one who can’t see.”

“I can see you.” Clay’s hand lifts aways from Akane’s skin, and the meister knows where’s it’s going even before fingers wrap gentle around his cock. “ _God_  you’re amazing, you’re  _beautiful_  Akane.” There’s a stroke up over his length and Akane shudders even before Clay comes forward into him farther. “I love you so fucking much.”

“You can love me all you want, just don’t stop  _touching_  me,” Akane gasps, reaching out to touch Clay. His blind fingers hit face and collarbone before he shifts his hand to cup against the blond’s cheek and around Clay’s neck, brings his legs in to wrap around the weapon’s hips. With the extra leverage he can shift against Clay’s hand sliding over him, rock himself back against the weapon’s cock to match the blond’s rhythm. “I love you too. You know I do.”

“I know.” Clay’s leaned down again; Akane can judge his position by the hand at the blond’s face. Lips brush over the meister’s cheek and when he arches up his chest bumps against Clay’s. “My beautiful meister.” His fingers slide up, drag against the flushed skin so Akane whimpers and pants for more, and Clay anticipates, jerks his hand harder and faster and rocks forward so Akane can feel the weapon moving slick inside him. Without the distraction of sight, the sparkle of Clay’s blue eyes and the shift of his soft hair, there’s nothing left for Akane’s mind to focus on but the  _feeling_ , the drag of friction over nerve endings and the faint whisper of skin against skin, the sound of Clay’s breathing going fast over him and the way his own throat hums as it turns every exhale into a moan. Without seeing Clay’s eyes on him it’s easier to let the self-consciousness go too, even when Clay is humming in appreciation every time Akane arches up. He can imagine what they look like together without the panic of self-awareness, his body curving up to meet the one working over him, his lips parting around a moan until Clay laughs and leans down to lick the curve of his lower lip. The shape of Clay’s back, the pull of muscle over his shoulders as he rocks forward, the line of Akane’s leg cutting across the smooth dip of his back into his ass, the blur-fast pull of fingers over the meister’s length and the slow, steady push of the weapon’s cock inside the other’s body -- he can see it clear with imagination, hazy with the heat he can feel radiating off both of them, and when Clay draws his hand up Akane groans just before the wave of pleasure hits him and washes out the image behind his darkened eyes.

Clay keeps pumping his hand for another few seconds, until Akane has stopped jerking under him in response to the sensation. When he pulls his hand away he leans down instead, lays his body flat over the other boy’s, and rests his mouth against Akane’s hair as his thrusts go fast and erratic. Akane’s skin is coated in sweat and the heat and the darkness are making him dizzy, but the lingering pleasure of orgasm is still suffusing his veins. He can hear Clay’s breathing going too fast against his hair, and when Akane arches his hips up the blond gasps and the meister can feel the jerk of the other boy’s body as he comes.

Clay drops on top of the meister and for a minute there’s just the flush of heat coming off their bodies and the pant of breath leveling into regular pacing. Then the weapon pushes up to take some of his weight and starts pulling at the tie knotted around the meister’s head. It comes free with a ruffle of the other boy’s hair; Akane opens his eyes and flinches back from the light, too bright in comparison with its brief absence.

“Sorry.” Fingers come down to brush against Akane’s forehead, and when the meister carefully opens his eyes again Clay’s hand is shading his eyes from the worst of the light. “That better?” The weapon slides back and away and Akane shudders and smiles.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Did you like the blindfold?” Clay asks, fingertips dragging gentle paths over Akane’s skin.

“Very much.” Akane blinks up at the blond, smiles faintly. “Though it’s nice to see your face again.”

“Your eyes are so beautiful.” Clay leans in towards the meister and Akane shuts his eyes again so the weapon can brush his lips against his eyelids. “You shouldn’t be so self-conscious about them.”

“I’ll try.” Akane promises. “If you promise to cover them sometimes.”

Clay laughs against his hair. “I promise.”


End file.
